


Seven Deadly Sins

by dolores



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: 5 Things, Except there's 7, F/M, M/M, Minor Character(s), Seven Deadly Sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolores/pseuds/dolores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven people Devon did not mean to sleep with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Deadly Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Seven unconnected stories about people Devon didn't mean to sleep with - but did. Thanks to Kate for the conversation that provided the initial inspiration. This is for Chad, probably the only other person who wanted to watch Play Dead.

 

**1\. Wrath**

Devon wasn’t stupid.

He knew the rule was never to mess with your best friend’s girl, no matter what your best friend had done. And, honestly, he hadn’t meant this to happen. He tried to imagine the conversation he’d have with the little guy. Maybe, he could make light of it:

“She was needy and currently available, man. You totally know that’s my favourite kind of woman.”

And, in response, Oz would, what – laugh it off, say he completely understood, make some dumb joke about Devon’s taste in women and then ask for all the details? Maybe just shrug and let it pass? Or... would he tear Devon limb from limb?

Devon suddenly became very aware of his limbs, and how interesting it was that they were currently in their proper places in relation to the rest of his body. Trouble was, they weren’t in their proper places in relation to Willow’s.

She’d turned up at the band’s apartment a little after seven. The guys were getting slowly baked and it was difficult for any one of them to summon the energy to answer the door.

Devon had eventually struggled to his feet; as it turned out, the caller was for him. Well, for Oz; but in his absence, Devon would have to do.

She stammered some questions about where Oz was and Devon didn’t really know how to answer them, so he thought show might be better than tell. As he took her into Oz’s room he’d thought Willow looked, like, sad and hopeful all at the same time. All puppy eyes and purple knitwear.

It was kinda hot.

Oz’s room was empty, but for a couple posters on the wall and an amp in the corner. Willow looked at him, apparently expecting some sort of explanation.

“Uh, like, his Uncle Ken came round the other day, said he was boxing up Oz’s stuff, he had to send some of it someplace. Haven’t actually spoken to him. He left enough cash for a couple months’ rent, but –"

His supply of relevant information exhausted, he trailed off. Willow took a few steps forward and slumped onto the bed, already looking red-eyed.

When she started to cry, Devon sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. He felt slightly awkward; normally when chicks were crying in his presence he was the cause and they didn’t really want him anywhere near them. Often as not, they were also running away, or cursing his name. So, in this particular situation he wasn’t entirely certain what to do or say.

He tried some words of comfort. “Hey, hey – don’t cry. I mean, he totally dug you. He’ll probably go do some hippy ‘finding himself’ shit and be back before you know it.”

“He cheated on me,” she replied, sobbing a little more.

Man, Devon thought, Oz hadn’t told him that. There was an odd feeling, under the buzz of the weed. Something he didn’t experience very often. He was a little pissed at Oz.

Oz was supposed to be his best friend, and yet, when Devon thought about, he never told him anything. Dude, how long was it before he’d thought to mention that all those nights he suddenly couldn’t do practice or gigs, he was actually turning into a werewolf? And, okay, so Devon knew the town was full of vampires – he wasn’t _that_ oblivious – but how long was it before Oz mentioned that he spent half his time running around with crucifixes and crossbows fighting them, and that his girlfriend was a witch and that Buffy was some sort of ninja warrior queen?

And worst of all, he didn’t think to tell his best friend he was quitting town. The band would fall apart without Oz, it was all Devon had, really – and he hadn’t even given Devon an explanation.

Devon told Oz everything. Like when he had that weird dream with Principal Snyder and Angela Lansbury in it. Or when his mom got drunk one time and told him she’d really wanted a girl. Or the time Harmony was giving him head and she put a finger –

Willow laid her head down onto his lap, and Devon’s train of thought derailed.

His cotton shirt was unbuttoned – he’d been getting comfortable earlier, after all – and her hair was ticklish on his belly. Her head felt warm, and she seemed to have stopped crying. This was also a new experience, not many girls had been in that position without –

The thought settled on his mind with a certain inevitability.

A few seconds later, Willow suddenly shot upright, wide eyes momentarily on his crotch, then his face, a flush creeping up her neck. And he thinks that soon, he’ll be on more familiar territory, and there’ll be a crying girl, running out of the room because of him.

And then there was this odd expression on her face. Determined and defiant all at once.

It was kinda hot.

Then she kissed him.

And he didn’t kiss back, because, woah – Oz’s girl. On Oz’s bed. But then she kept kissing him, and Devon remembered he was angry with Oz and the next thing he knew he _was_ kissing back and Willow is pulling off his shirt and pulling out his belt and –

They were naked, and fucking, and he was inside her, and he wondered what she was thinking. He wanted to ask her if he was bigger than Oz, or better than Oz. He’d never thought about these things before but suddenly, somehow, they were important. His head was still light from the weed but he really tried to concentrate now, do that twisty thing with his hips that had worked for him before, run his thumbs over her nipples soft or maybe just rough enough, tug at her earlobe with his teeth, find whatever it was that made her moan loudest.

And she writhed underneath him, eyes shut, and he wondered who she was thinking of. Was she pretending that he was Oz, or was she glad it was Devon?

He caught himself. Shit, when did he ever start thinking during sex? He barely did that when he was sitting in silence. He was a rock star, he just need to fuck, not go all girly and introspective.

Devon picked up the pace, and for a moment Willow was just like all the other chicks.

But at her climax, when, softly, she said Devon’s name, he felt triumphant.

Later, when they were dressing, and a flustered Willow put her sweater on back to front, he was feeling something else he didn’t normally feel. Guilt, mixed with a little fear.

Man, he’d be jerking off thinking about this for _weeks_.

Willow was, apparently, even more guilty. She talked to herself, a litany of, “oh my God, what have I done, oh my God, oh no.”

Ordinarily that sort of chatter would just kill his buzz, but he understood.

Suddenly she turned on Devon, and the demeanour was different, her eyes as hard as flint. “We never talk about this. We never tell him. _Ever._ ”

Devon nodded vigorously. He’d already decided this was one secret he would have to keep from Oz, because the alternative was likely dealing with a smaller and more angry version of the Incredible Hulk, and he wasn’t about to put himself in harm’s way.

And besides all that, he didn’t think Willow was someone to piss off neither. She might look all sweet and innocent, but the guy who did that would be playing with fire.

Devon was many things, but he wasn’t stupid.

 

**2\. Pride**

Harmony Kendall’s post-Prom party was in full swing, and all the cool kids were there – most of them, inevitably, in the kitchen.

The empty beer bottle spun on the granite floor; watching it so intently made Devon a little woozy, but then he had drank half a bottle of some strange blue shit he’d found in Harmony’s parents’ liquor cabinet. He tried to focus on the grinding sound of glass on stone, but it was barely audible above the sound of Sixpence None the Fucking Richer trilling moronically away on the stereo.

The bottle came to rest. After a beat, Harmony squealed in excitement, and Devon felt a dozen people look at him, wondering what his reaction would be.

Up till now, when a dude spun and got another dude they spun again till it was a girl. But now, having chosen Devon first, the bottle was pointing at Larry, the one dude who’d be quite happy to get another dude – and who was hardly likely to pass up the opportunity, not after he’d already had to French Nancy.

Twice.

And hell, who didn’t want to have Devon’s tongue in their mouth?

“You scared, MacLeish?”

Larry was pre-empting Devon’s reaction, hoping to goad him into doing something Larry had assumed he didn’t want to do. Whatever. As if Devon MacLeish cared about showing some sort of bullshit machismo.

He leaned forward, putting his face right up near Larry’s, a crooked smile on his lips. “No.”

Larry closed the gap in a heartbeat and thrust his tongue into Devon’s mouth. Harmony, Nancy, Percy and the others in the circle whooped, jeered and cat-called but Devon just grinned into the kiss, and grabbed the back of Larry’s head to pull him in tighter.

Devon thought: this is totally going to be the best kiss of Larry’s entire life.

They parted and Devon could feel a little burn from Larry’s stubble. He saw the look in Larry’s eyes and, damn if it didn’t make him a little hard. He’d learned in his time there was something hot about being desired like that. Hell, that’s why he’s a lead singer in a band.

Someone else grabbed the bottle, and it spun once more.

*

It had got late and the party had begun to slow, though as someone had finally put on some decent tunes, Devon was staying for a little longer. Besides, there was still some of the blue stuff left and the sofa in the lounge was kinda comfortable, even if the main centre of events was still the kitchen. There was a bowl of peanuts on the side table and he threw them one at a time into the air, catching them with his mouth in that time-honoured party trick, which he felt was all the more impressive given how drunk he probably was.

Not that there was much of an audience to appreciate his dexterity. When he paused after the sixth peanut he realised there was only Larry, watching him with interest from an easy chair and clutching a bottle of beer, some of which had apparently slopped on to his dress shirt.

“Yo MacLeish,” he said, “having fun?”

Devon shrugged. “Sorta. Though, y’know, really not the fun I thought I’d be having on prom night. Stupid girls.”

“Didn’t you have a date?”

“Yeah, Lysette,” Devon said. “But she decided my car wasn’t up to her standards. Girls are too damn fussy. They were only burger wrappers, I coulda put them in the trash.”

Larry was sympathetic. “She dumped you for having a messy car? Harsh.”

“Dude, totally,” said Devon, more animated now in his indignation. “We didn’t even get to first base! That’s why I came here. Thought I might get lucky, but all the girls here already had a date. Apart from Amber – but she just flapped her hand in my face and told me to get lost.”

Despairing, he let his head fall back on the sofa, eyes looking up to the ceiling. “Man, if you’d told me I’d end up at the end of prom night with my rocks firmly on...”

Unconsciously emphasising his point, Devon grabbed his crotch, squeezing gently. This did not escape Larry’s attention.

“You up for a bet, MacLeish?”

Devon raised his head at this non-sequitur. “What sort of bet?”

“Amber and I are pretty tight. She’s on the cheerleading squad for the team, and she watched _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ a thousand times and totally wanted a gay best friend. That’s where I came in – y’know, after I came out.”

“What does that have to do with a bet?”

“Well, I think if I put a good word in for you she might give you a chance – I think she’s still here somewhere. Be up to you to get any further, but it’s better than nothing, right? Win the bet and I’ll do that.”

Devon nodded. “Okay. And if I lose the bet?”

Larry paused and Devon could see he was trembling, ever so slightly. Nervous and excited all at once. “If you lose – you get naked.”

“You mean streak?”

Larry swallowed. “I mean for me. A private show. Only has to be for a minute, in the bathroom or something.”

Devon grinned. Once they got a taste, they all wanted more. “And what’s the bet?”

“Peanuts. Do your little trick ten times in ten seconds and you win.”

“Sounds fair. You got a watch?”

*

Obviously, he threw the bet.

Not so obviously that Larry noticed, ‘cause, hey, that was all part of the seduction. Reel ‘em in slow. Not that Devon had planned any of this exactly, but it was late and it’d be hard work with Amber even if Larry had any influence, so why not just take the route of least resistance?

They found one of the many bathrooms in the house, a girly affair with rugs everywhere and the cloying scent of flowers. Larry fumbled with the lock, pretty much vibrating with anticipation.

He turned around just as Devon slid his shirt off over his head. Larry made a soft ‘oof’ noise, drool practically spilling down his chin. Devon stretched his arms above his head so his stomach went taut, treasure trail rising a little out of his waistband, then toed off his shoes and white socks.

He paused for a moment, letting Larry drink in the scene, then undid his belt, popped the button on his pants, and let them pool at his feet, before kicking them out of the way.

Larry’s eyes traced down Devon’s torso to his Calvins and the bulge they contained.

“You wanna do the honours?”

“What?” Larry’s voice was a little high-pitched.

“You won the bet. Only fair.”

Larry stumbled forward, looking hungry and awestruck at the same time. He was on his knees in front of Devon in a second, shaky hands ghosting up Devon’s thighs before reaching up to the waistband and tugging down until Devon was finally naked, save for a string of beads around his neck.

“Dude,” Larry breathed.

Devon had prepared for the evening by giving himself a trim and shaving his balls. This, he knew, had the happy effect of not only neatening things up for any girl – or guy, as it turned out – but making his dick look even bigger than it was.

Larry’s mouth was a little open. He seemed hypnotised by what was in front of him.

“You don’t have to stop there.”

With some difficulty, Larry tore his gaze away from Devon’s cock to look up at his face. “What?”

“If you wanna have some fun, be my guest.”

Larry glanced back down and let out a small sigh. Devon’s cock was thickening in front of him. Larry raised a hand and closed around the girth, experimentally stroking.

Closing his eyes, Devon leaned back against the tub, and groaned as Larry’s mouth closed around the head of his dick and his hand slid round Devon’s hip to grip his ass.

He bucked his hips a little, trying not to scare Larry but desperate to get that sweet, slick friction.

“Aw yeah, fuck, yeah, dude...”

Devon used one of his own hands to steady himself on the tub, and dragged the other across his chest, pinching his nipples, groaning as Larry’s stubble grazed his thigh.

He wasn’t sure how much of this Larry had done before, but he was at the least a gifted amateur. Ten increasingly guttural minutes later, Devon was on the edge.

“ _Fuck,_ I’m gonna...”

Larry let Devon’s cock slip out his mouth and stroked him to a climax, Devon spattering across the sleeve of Larry’s shirt and on one of the rugs, toes curling.

There was some respectful post-orgasmic silence, the scent of sex now offsetting that of flowers. Larry got to his feet, lips reddened and perspiration studding his forehead.

Devon sighed contentedly. “Thanks, dude.”

“Uh. Any time,” said Larry, looking around for some tissues with which to wipe his shirt.

“Really? Might just take you up on that.”

Larry’s gaze snapped back to Devon, but the impact of those words had barely time to sink in before Devon grabbed Larry and brought their lips together. It was much rougher than before, Devon’s hard, muscled nakedness pressed into Larry.

Just as quick, Devon drew back, sank to his knees and placed a hand on Larry’s crotch, squeezing. He could feel the erection beneath the material of Larry’s pants. Larry whimpered, and Devon glanced up, grinning.

“You scared, Blaisdell?”

“But you’re not gay...” Larry whispered, as Devon began to unzip.

Devon’s response to that was simply a wicked smile, before he wrapped his hot mouth around Larry’s stout cock.

As if Devon MacLeish cared about labels.

 

**3\. Lust**

Devon isn’t used to being pursued. In his experience, girls don’t take control like she does. He’s not even sure he remembers how they got into the alleyway, just that one second he’s in the Bronze and the next this chick has got him outside, shoved up against a wall with her red lips on his and her hot hand in his pants.

As they pick up the pace, she grabs at his clothes, his shirt buttons ricocheting across the alley. Her nails feel sharp on his chest, and she smells of cheap perfume, the scent mixed with the sour smell of the alley: rotten food, stale beer and who knows what else.

She spins him so their positions are reversed, her back to the wall and her hands now tugging at his fly buttons and pulling down on his pants. He barely has time to register that his cock is suddenly on display before she’s unzipped herself and slides on to him. Instinct takes over then, and he starts to thrust, urged on by her, as she grips and slaps his ass hard, encouraging him to go quicker, harder, faster.

Devon tries, tries to regain control of the situation – but just as he feels he might, she’s climaxing, clutching him and swearing in his ear. Then she’s shoving him off, his pride at his own talents mixing with bewilderment and frustration because _he hasn’t finished_ , and yet here she is doing up her leather pants.

He takes a gulp of air, opens his mouth to protest, to demand – but their heads turn as someone screams in the darkness beyond. The sort of terrified scream residents of Sunnydale know only too well.

He gets one last glance.

“Thanks,” she says, grinning – and then Faith runs off without another word.

 

**4\. Gluttony**

Buffy’s room has at last appeared from beneath the packing crates. This is mainly thanks to the handsome youth Joyce has employed to help her heft them into the gallery’s van, currently parked in her driveway and somewhat lower on its axles than when it arrived.

She stands at the bottom of the stairs, catching her breath, and watches as he descends with the final crate, singing quietly to himself as he walks out of the door. He’s familiar, though she can’t quite think why.

When he returns to the house she’s in the kitchen. She calls through, “Can I get you some water?”

He appears in the room a moment later, flushed pink with exertion, stripping off a plaid shirt to reveal a singlet damp with sweat.

“Fu – uh, I mean, yes. Just yes.”

She gives him an indulgent smile and turns on the faucet. The crates were heavy and it’s a humid afternoon, and when their fingers brush as she hands him the glass, he’s hot to the touch.

“Thanks.”

As he consumes the contents of the glass in one long draught, she tries to determine where she knows him from. When her memory still won’t budge, she decides to ask.

“I’m sorry but – have we met before?”

He grins, showing off perfect teeth. “Sure. Your zombie party, like, the year before last. The Dingoes played, you had that totally awkward argument with Buffy and then the undead attacked. It was way cool.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Joyce replies, but whilst that _is_ technically where she’s seen him before, it’s still not why he’s familiar to her. She frowns a little, annoyed.

Then an epiphany: he looks like Hank.

Which is to say, he looks like the Hank she’d first met all those years ago at that senior prom. He’s a little taller and his hair is darker, but there’s the same rangey grace, the same cocksure attitude. The realisation brings colour to her cheeks because, well, there was a reason she stole him from his girlfriend. Hank was sexy – and so is this young man.

Suddenly flustered, Joyce does what she has always done when she encounters a hot man and doesn’t know what else to do: offers to feed him. “Can I fix you something to eat?”

He gives her a slightly bemused look, eyebrow quirked like he’s trying to work something out. “Uh. Yeah, cool. I mean, thanks.”

She nods, then opens her fridge to look for ingredients.

She has her back turned to him, halfway through making the sandwich and chiding herself for even remotely considering one of Buffy’s contemporaries attractive, when he announces: “Coyote Shivers!”

Joyce turns around and he’s right there, so close to her that she can feel the heat still radiating from him and smell the sharp, sweet scent of his sweat. _He smells of youth._

“Coyote Shivers. I was trying to remember this rock star that had a way hot older wife. It was Coyote Shivers. I think she was like a Playboy bunny or something.”

Joyce has never heard of Coyote Shivers.

“You know, I never understood why so many guys date younger girls. Older women are way more attractive – they’re at their sexual peak, right?”

Yes, thinks Joyce. That’s supposedly true. And they also know a patently obvious line when they see one, however flattering.

When she doesn’t reply he dips his head forward towards her. They’re still not touching, but he’s gone as far as he dares without Joyce making some sort of signal that he can go further. Joyce doesn’t feel threatened, she knows she could end this with a gentle rejection, a firm hand on his chest and a gentle shove, and there’d be some embarrassment but nothing more.

But, then, he is beautiful, and, yes he’s young but – oh, the hell with it. Just for once, she decides, she’s going to have sex in Sunnydale without being under the influence of some sort of drug. And she'll just have to hope to all the gods that Buffy never finds out.

She waits a heartbeat then brings her lips to his, and he kisses her back with a hunger that makes her dizzy. His long arms wrap around her and she’s pressed up against him and the heat of his body is matched by the heat between her legs. Joyce lets herself melt into his embrace.

When, later, they lie naked on Joyce’s bed – on top of the sheets because it’s too hot to be covered up – he apologises.

“I totally didn’t mean to do this,” he says, his fingers tracing over her breasts. He’s leaning in to her, hard body pressed up against her side. “Only meant to move some boxes.”

“That makes two of us,” she replies, but she is grateful all the same. Joyce aches like she hasn’t in years, but then she can’t remember ever having sex on the kitchen floor, and then again on the sofa, and for a third time on her own bed, all in one afternoon.

Not even to mention him going down on her on the stairs on their way up.

He might well resemble Hank, but he must have at least three times the stamina of her ex-husband. As well as a far more talented and attentive tongue.

“I so need a shower,” he says, and, well, she has to agree. Not that he’s the only one.

“Help yourself, there’s fresh towels in there.”

His thumb caresses her nipple, and he leans in to kiss her earlobe. “Hey, wanna come with me?”

Somehow, he’s getting hard again. Joyce laughs, amazed at his desire for her, and at her desire for him. She reaches down between them, coiling her hand around his cock and giving it a squeeze, before releasing and sliding off the bed. She beckons him with her eyes, and he eagerly follows.

As the water starts to cascade down on them both, she wonders for a moment if she’ll regret all this in the morning. Then she decides not – this is Sunnydale, you might be dead by morning. Or by this time next week, or month, or year. You may as well enjoy the moment whilst it lasts.

And then Devon is on his knees, the tip of his tongue running up her thigh – and she melts away again.

 

**5\. Greed**

It was done.

Devon sat, still naked, on an armchair, feeling a little sore and a lot weird. The Mayor had buttoned himself back up and was wiping his desk down with a moist towelette, humming tunelessly.

He never should have let Willy talk him in to this, but he’d needed the money and ‘male escort’ sounded like the next best job to being a rock star. And anyways, getting paid for screwing hadn’t sounded like such a bad gig, even if his first client would be the Mayor’s wife. He couldn’t ever remember seeing any pictures of her – not that he ever read the _Herald_ – but how ugly could she be?

Except that it wasn’t the Mayor’s wife.

Devon had been frozen with shock when the Mayor himself answered the door to the mansion, grinning like this was the funniest thing that had ever happened.

He’d looked at Devon appraisingly. “And aren’t you just as fine a representative of the young folks of Sunnydale as I could have hoped for?”

“Uh, I think I got the wrong address.”

“No, you didn’t. But I imagine you were anticipating that my better half would be standing where I am,” he’d said. “Alas, I had to ask William to undertake a little deception for me. Shameful for a public servant to do such a thing, I know. But I wasn’t sure you’d accept the commission if you knew its true nature.”

When Devon took a step backward, ready to flee, he’d held up his hands in supplication. “Wait, wait. Don’t worry your pretty little head, my boy. You’re not in trouble. I’d still like you to perform certain services – in fact, I’ll pay you three times what you were promised. You see, it has to be you.”

Money and flattery were two of Devon’s main weaknesses, and so it was he found himself two minutes later in the Mayor’s study, all mahogany furniture and leather upholstery, undressing whilst the Mayor looked at him even more appraisingly.

He’d clapped his hands together when Devon was done. “Magnificent. Even better than I’d hoped. Now, if you would be so good as to bend over the desk, I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”

Somehow, Devon hadn’t quite thought it through, what he was going to have to do.

“What? Wait, I don’t...”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself completely clear.” He was still smiling, but suddenly, there was a trace of menace to the Mayor’s voice. “I require you to bend over that desk. Immediately.”

He seemed to catch himself, and suddenly chuckled. “I know it’s not what you were expecting. Remember, though, your customer is always right. But if your service ethos isn’t going to be enough, then I’d encourage you to think of the money.”

The sex had been rough and painful; as much as Devon tried to focus on dollar bills, there was no ignoring that. The Mayor didn’t use protection, something else Devon had realised with alarm, but much too late to do anything about it.

When he’d finished, he didn’t withdraw, instead insisting on reaching around and jerking Devon off. And when Devon came, several long minutes later, desperately imagining the hand belonged to Cordelia, the Mayor had licked up every last drop.

Then, he’d made Devon take a seat whilst he cleaned up. This task finished, he tossed the towelette into the waste paper basket.

Devon glanced up. “So, uh, are we finished?”

The Mayor looked at Devon and smiled. “We sure are – and no doubt you’re expecting your just reward.”

There was a little bell on the desk, Devon knew, as it was one of the items he’d stared at whilst waiting for it all to be over. The Mayor rang the bell and then perched on the edge of the desk, still smiling.

“You know, that was a heck of a lot more fun than eating a box of spiders.”

Devon didn’t even try to work out what the crazy old dude meant. He just wanted to leave. But the Mayor continued his monologue.

“I do hope you understand that I don’t do this on a regular basis. See, there are a number of requirements in the book of Ascension and one of those is to place my seed in a minstrel and then consume the seed he then produces. A strange little stipulation, but then who am I to argue with ancient magic if it means I get to screw such an attractive young man?”

The door to the study opened and a burly man appeared. Devon jumped up, panicked, at first simply because he was naked – but he saw this guy’s face. And his very sharp teeth.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

“Sadly, I’m going to have to have you killed now,” the Mayor continued, sounding genuinely regretful. “It’s not that the book requires it. It’s just that I’m a family values politician. If it came out that I’d had sex with a rent boy in the Mayor’s mansion – well, I have my approval ratings to consider.”

Devon tried to barrel past the vampire, hoping if he could get out of the room he might have a chance – but he didn’t get more than a few steps when vicious punch landed square on his jaw and sent him crashing to the ground, crying out in pain.

He sprawled on the floor, the vampire looming over him. The last thing he heard was the Mayor’s voice.

“Still, many artists do become so much more successful after their death. I sincerely hope that’s a comfort to you in your final moments.”

Then everything faded to black.

 

**6\. Envy**

The light from the setting sun streamed through the plate glass windows of the Sunnydale Crater Center’s main function suite. It was bright enough that Devon felt the need to put on his shades, the ones he’d bought ‘cause they looked like James Dean’s.

He leaned on the rail and took in the view. It was pretty fucking beautiful: the crater itself vast and wide and awesome, highlighted in light and shadow, fat sun slowly dipping below the shimmering horizon beyond. And most importantly, watching it meant turning his back on the losers who’d turned up for this stupid fucking school reunion.

The turnout was dismal, even allowing for the fact that the crater was all that remained of Sunnydale, and that you’d been lucky to graduate without being killed by vampires, wild dogs or giant snake demons, and luckier still to then survive the succeeding fifteen years, for mostly similar reasons.

Even so, for less than ten people to come back, none of whom he’d wanted to see, still made the whole fucking thing a waste of his time.

Of course, he was here only in case one other person in particular turned up. It’d been stupid to imagine he would, that Michelle Blake would have a means to contact him if Devon didn’t, or else that he’d stumble across her lame Facebook group just by chance. He might not even be – well, Devon didn’t like to think like that. He was out there _somewhere_.

Just not here.

Fuck it, he decided. Time to cut his losses.

He paused for a moment more, looking out at the sunset, just enough time for someone else to appear at the window next to him.

“So who are you here for?”

The speaker was a dark-haired man, shorter than Devon, with dark eyes, and a striped shirt on which a sticker proclaimed his name to be ‘Scott’. It took Devon a moment, but then he remembered. Scott Hope. They’d been in drama club together.

“What, you reading minds now?”

It wouldn’t have surprised Devon if the answer was ‘yes’ – given who else he’d gone to school with, there might well be some sort of Professor X in the mix too.

“No,” Scott replied, clearly amused. “But I figure none of us came here for the canapés. Most likely, we came here to see someone we hadn’t since high school. Maybe to gloat, maybe just curiosity. Maybe just to check they’re still alive. For one reason or another, anyway. So who is it for you?”

Devon considered telling the nosey little fucker to mind his own business, but then stops himself. He wasn’t pissed with this dude, there was no need to be harsh. Or even dishonest, now he came to think of it.

“Oz.”

A nod. Devon didn’t elaborate, and if Scott was curious, he didn’t press further.

Turnabout was fair play, though. “What about you?”

Scott dipped his head, his expression more serious. “Buffy. I need to apologise to her.”

Devon was about to ask for what – but then, over Scott’s shoulder, he saw Michelle rise from her desk near the main doors. Her list with the names of prospective attendees remained almost entirely unticked, and the pages of stickers almost entirely unstuck, but even so, she was heading for the podium that stood under the large banner declaring the event to be the “Sunnydale High School Class of ’99 Reunion”, clutching in her hand more than a few prompt cards. Jesus.

He grabbed Scott by the arm and quickly pulled him through the nearest side exit into the corridor beyond. It seemed dark compared to the blazing light of the function room and Devon took off his shades, rubbing his eyes.

Scott looked at him, a little bemused.

“Michelle’s about to make a speech,” Devon explained. “Fuck that. You want a drink?”

Scott looked relieved. “Thanks. Probably better I’m away from her altogether. I’m the one she’s turned up to see – apparently she thinks we should get married.”

Devon snorted. “Let’s split then. There’s gotta be another bar somewhere in this place.”

It was a weird building, the shiny glass-and-steel product of congressional pork that was half tourist destination, half conference centre. It had never really taken off, the repeated calamities that had befallen Sunnydale giving the area enough negative press and bad mojo to deter all but the most fearless or least informed.

Consequently, the bar they found was about as empty as their reunion, only with the Eagles as soundtrack rather than Michelle’s speech.

They took two stools. Devon ordered a couple of beers and took a long slake from his before returning to his earlier unasked question. “So why d’you need to say sorry to Buffy?”

Scott picked at the label on his bottle. “You know we dated for a while? Well, we split up ‘cause she was busy fighting vampires and whatever else – not that I knew at the time, but anyways, I was a complete dick afterwards and told half the year she was a lesbian because I had some hurt pride and because I thought it’d make me look better. I know it’s all ancient history, but I still feel like I owe her an apology.”

“Hardly crime of the century, man. We were young and stupid. Some of us still are.”

Scott smiled a little at that. There were lines around his eyes, Devon noticed, but he still looked pretty youthful. Not so different to how he was back then.

“No, but then there’s more to it than that. I did it so no-one asked why Scott Hope wasn’t any good with girls. So they didn’t say _I_ was gay. Of course, if they had, they’d have been right.”

He looked for a reaction from Devon. When one wasn’t forthcoming he continued, “Obviously, at the time, I didn’t want to admit that. Ergo, my pathetic misdirection. My contribution to the culture that made it so hard for me to come out in the first place.”

“Still think you’re being too harsh on yourself. It’s not like Buffy didn’t deal with worse. Cordelia Chase, for a start.”

“Maybe. But it’s still something I want to do. Not that I really expected her to be here. You think she’s even still alive?”

Devon shrugged. “World’s still in one piece, so probably. Wish she’d turned up though, or Xander or Willow. Next best thing to Oz himself, they’d know where he was I bet.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I thought I might get some answers coming back here, but... Fuck it. So what’re you doing these days? Y’know, ‘part from being gay?”

Another smile. It was a nice smile. “I work in the movies – a lighting engineer. Not as glamorous as it sounds. You? Still doing the music, right?”

The Dingoes had split up a few years after school, but Devon had scored some minor success with his new outfit, mostly as a college band. It wasn’t the stuff of dreams, but he made a living. He told Scott as much.

“Cool. And have you settled down, or is it all groupies all the time?”

Devon had picked up a beer mat. He twirled it on the bar top, avoiding Scott’s gaze. “Nah, groupies are overrated. But I’m not settled neither – split with my boyfriend three months ago.”

Scott gaped. “You’re _gay_? But... you were... wow.” He sat back on his stool, stunned. “Dude, no-one’s ever trumped me coming out before.”

He got a wry smile in response. “C’mon man, did you see the clothes I wore? And if you’d asked Cordelia or Harmony or any of those chicks they’d have told you I never went further than second base. Never even asked.”

He drained his beer and signalled the bartender for two more. “Truth be told, I was as desperate as you to make people think I was straight. I mean, I never said Cordy was a dyke or anything, but, hell, I had my own dark nights of the soul.”

Scott laughed, then stopped when he saw Devon’s look. “Oh, hey, no – you don’t understand. Not laughing at you. It’s just – I used to be so _jealous_ of you. You had all that success with girls, you strutted about all alpha-male. I so wished I could be like you.”

Devon reacted with mock offence. “Hey, people always wanted to be like me. I was still a rock star, closet case or not.”

Scott just shook his head, still in shock. “Just... wow. This is so weird. But so cool. Oh my God, were there any guys at school you ever actually, y’know – I mean, you and Oz were pretty tight, did...”

Devon cut him off. “No. Not Oz.”

“Right.” Scott looked a little abashed. “Sorry. Hey, what about Larry? What with him actually being out and proud?”

“Nah. Never went in for jocks.”

Scott looked wistful. “I wouldn’t have minded. I like taller guys. Shame I never had the courage to ask him out on a date before graduation day.”

“Hey, there’s no use regretting anything, dude. He the only one you had the hots for?”

Scott looked right at him. “Oh, there were others.”

Devon ordered two more beers.

*

Scott’s room was the more convenient, which was important after seven bottles of beer.

Their first kiss was up against the door, moments after it closed, Devon bringing Scott’s hands up above his head to pin them against the door frame, thrusting his hips against Scott’s own as their mouths met, feeling the vibration of Scott’s moan as much as hearing it.

It ended sooner than Devon would have expected, Scott sliding out from underneath his embrace. “I really gotta pee. And I must have dragon breath,” he’d said way of explanation, before ducking into the bathroom. “Make yourself comfortable,” he called through the door.

Devon had never felt more like a grown up, somehow.

He was already naked and on the bed, crunching on some mints he’d found in his jacket pocket when the bathroom door opened. Scott stood in the doorway to the en suite, toothbrush still in hand, shirt unbuttoned and nothing on his lower half but a pair of tight green briefs.

Both took in the view, before Scott threw his brush in the direction of the sink and stripped off his shirt in indecent haste. He was about to grab the waistband of his briefs when Devon said, quietly, “Wait.”

“What? Is something wrong?” Scott looked down at himself, a little frantic.

“No. Just think you look hot. Want to remember this.”

Scott’s skin was smooth, nipples small and dark, and though slim enough there was a softness to his belly and his jawline that made Devon all the more hard. Almost subconsciously, Devon reached down to give himself a couple of strokes, chewing on his bottom lip, and he could see from the front of the briefs Scott was responding in kind.

A door slammed out in the corridor and the moment was gone: Scott moved forward, and this time Devon did not stop him. He climbed on to the bed, straddling Devon around his waist, leaning down for a long, slow kiss, Devon’s hands sliding under the briefs to squeeze Scott’s butt.

“I’m going to have that ass,” Devon told Scott, growling in his ear.

“Only if I can have yours,” Scott growled right back.

They both got their wish – but when Devon came he thought of Oz, like he always did.

*

The next morning Devon made Scott stop in the bathroom doorway again, only this time as he went in – and with the briefs discarded on the floor.

“Wanna remember the rear view too.”

Scott laughed, and made Devon take a photo with his phone – not that it took much persuasion.

On the drive back to LA, shades back on and wind in his hair, Devon reflected that the reunion had pretty much gone exactly as he might have planned, except for one very important detail. Not that he was kidding himself. Even if Oz had been there, the chances they’d have fucked every which way were pretty damn small.

He stopped at a roadside diner half an hour in, and checked his cell. Scott had sent him a second picture, one he’d taken in the mirror, a self portrait of him in those briefs, “to go with your other shot.”

Oh yeah, and an invite to go on a date back in LA.

His first instinct was to say no. It’s not what he’d been looking for. He’d come back to Sunnydale because he’d wondered about what could have been. What if he’d told Oz how he felt in school – how would it have turned out? He’d hoped he’d find out.

Well, he thought, who the fuck knew what would have happened. There was no use regretting anything – he’d told Scott that himself. And anyways, he might never see Oz again, and Scott’s little ass was as hot as Oz’s ever was. No point in wasting an opportunity.

Devon flipped open his glovebox and grabbed a Sharpie from amongst the crap. It took a minute, but then he sent a reply, this time a photo for Scott.

The word yes, written on his cock.

 

**7\. Sloth**

Devon opened his eyes, still drowsy, and blinked in the warm sunlight that streamed in from the open window. He was in someone else’s bed, bright white sheets wrapped around his naked waist.

He felt movement and looked to his left. Next to him was his best friend, lying on his side with his back to Devon, and on top of the sheets. Oz was naked, and his little round butt seemed almost as pale as the bedcovers.

After a moment of indecision, Devon reached out and touched Oz on his shoulder. The little guy stirred, then rolled onto his back and turned his head towards Devon’s own.

“Oh, hey. You’re awake.”

Devon just stared at Oz’s cock, which lay plump and engorged on Oz’s stomach. Not yet at full mast, but the rigging was almost up.

“Uh. Did we-“

He trailed off. There was a short silence, during which Oz wore the faintest smile. “No. You ate, like, eleven of your special brownies and then passed out. We slept together, but in a very literal sense.”

“You always said I was very literal.”

“That’s true.”

“So we didn’t fuck?”

“No.”

Devon sighed, tipping his head back and shutting his eyes.

“Dude, that was the whole point of me coming round.”

He felt Oz move, and suddenly the dude was on top of him, warm chest against Devon’s own. He opened his eyes as Oz leaned down for a kiss, his lips on Devon’s for just a moment before moving along Devon’s jaw and down to the nape of his neck.

“Wouldn’t want you to have a wasted trip,” Oz said, hot breath on Devon’s ear.

Suddenly, Devon felt very awake.


End file.
